Legacy
by beautyofsorrow
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Cadet Molly O'Brien remembers a childhood hero.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Names you recognize aren't mine—I do not own nor claim to own the characters, places, or events. Only the story. Names you don't recognize (i.e. Telyn Roksana and Jaleyn Krem) are mine; please don't use them without permission. Lyrics at the beginning respectfully accredited to Elton John and his "Candle in the Wind."

**Author's Note/Timeline:** Firstly, much thanks to **DianeB** for allowing the use of Molly-O's beach; stop by and read her **Nothing in the Galaxy** if you haven't, especially if you like this story—it's one of my favorites.

-Though I have read the first two Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine novels, I've disregarded canon in the event where the O'Briens move to Cardassia. In this story, they never left Earth.

-I've followed bits of the timeline laid out in the DS9 re-launch novels, Avatar and Unity, (Sisko's return, the birth of his & Kasidy's baby, Bajor's joining the Federation) though I did change his daughter's name. Originally, (in Avatar) Kasidy was considering the name Rachel Jadzia for a girl.

-I used Jadzia's pre-joining name as presented in the second Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine novel (featuring Trill and Andor). I also used bits of the inscription on her tombstone, though I couldn't remember exactly what it said.

**5/21/12:** Streamlined for easier reading.

* * *

><p>Legacy<br>by Dax's10thHost

_Your candle's burned out long before  
>Your legend ever will<em>

Molly O'Brien set her Introduction to 24th Century Exobiology homework aside and gazed out the window, taking in the sparkling waters of San Francisco Bay. The late-afternoon sunlight glinted off the waves and sparkled into her eyes, causing her eyes to water. Or was it something else that triggered her tears? Surely simple sunlight couldn't provoke such a strong reaction. After all, she'd lived under natural light for the past nine years of her life. No reason she shouldn't be used to it by now.

Molly sighed and turned away from the spectacular view, opting instead for a Starfleet-issue padd. A glance at the stardate justified her tears.

62014.

Ten years to the day.

Molly inhaled, and the air seemed to hang in her lungs as her eyes pinned the date, willing Time to retrace its endless steps and choose a different path. Any path other than the one it had blundered along that tragic day so long ago.

Molly's outward eyes glazed over as her inward ones stared at the door leading to yesterday's halls. As she sat there, she envisioned stretching out her arm and pressing the keys to open it. In her mind's eye, she saw the doors slip open, even heard the _hiss_ of them sliding into the bulkhead. But the one thing she couldn't fancy into existence, the one act she couldn't will her body to perform…was to step past the entrance.

Everything seemed to trickle into stillness as she struggled within her heart. Then, with a breath so heavy that it shut her eyes, Molly exhaled and steepled her fingers over her nose and mouth.

She wasn't ready yet. She just wasn't strong enough to endure the pain.

The doors behind her whisked open, and Molly's roommate, Telyn Roksana, entered the room. Sounds of laughter spilled in behind her, and Molly dashed the tears from her cheeks. She turned to greet her friend, hoping Roksana wouldn't notice the sadness hanging in her eyes.

"Hey," she said, watching as the Bajoran tossed an armload of padds onto her bunk.

"Hey," Roksana replied, turning to face Molly.

"How'd class go?" Molly asked, halfheartedly scrolling through her homework assignments. She really didn't have that much left to do before the weekend.

"Great. I only have two papers to write, and one test to study for. What about you?"

"Not much homework left. The rest of Intro to Exobiology, a few lecture transcriptions to read for Astrophysics, an outline due for Early Starfleet History…"

"Have you started that end-of-year essay yet?" Roksana asked. She pushed aside the padds and folded herself onto the bunk. "I haven't."

"You mean the one all the first-year cadets have to write? No. Haven't had the time to look at the assignment yet. What's the prompt?"

" 'Who inspired you to enter the Academy, and why?' "

The words hit Molly like a blow to her stomach. _Who inspired you…_ "Y-you're sure that's it?" she choked, heart hammering.

"Positive. I've got the assignment right here," Roksana said, gesturing to the padd she held in her hand. "It's due, uhm…yikes, next week."

Molly blinked and shifted her gaze to her homework. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of her roommate. Roksana was her friend, but Molly wasn't ready to admit her grief to herself, much less to a girl she'd known for barely a year.

The gray pallor of the padds' casings stared back at her, silent. Silent like…she shoved the thought back into its musty closet.

"Well, then…I should get to work on it, I guess," Molly mumbled, grabbing her satchel. She filled it with a few padds before slipping her feet into sandals. Since she hadn't had class that day, and it was the start of the weekend, she was already dressed in civvies.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh, down to the beach. I need some fresh air," Molly explained, offering what she hoped was a convincing smile before walking over to her nightstand. She punched the button to open the top drawer and reached inside, withdrawing a wooden box about the size of a thick hardcopy. She slipped it into her satchel, next to her homework, and walked to the door.

"I'll be back in time for dinner," Molly said, glancing back at Roksana. The Bajoran had moved to the floor, where she'd splayed her homework around her. She looked up and smiled before returning to her work. Molly squared her shoulders and exited the room.

The dormitory's hallways were bustling with students making their ways to their quarters after a day of classes and training. The air buzzed with eager voices sharing the day's ups, downs, and, of course, practical jokes. Representatives from dozens of races—Andorian, Bolian, Bajoran, Ktarian, Trill, Human, Betazoid, and more—intermingled. They lounged in twos against the walls, or laughed in fours and fives in couch-filled nooks. Overall, the atmosphere was warm and cheery, full of youth's exuberance and life.

The happiness grated on her nerves. Clutching her satchel strap, Molly wove her way through the mass of light-hearted smiles and banter. As she side-stepped elbows and other unexpected appendages, Molly kept her mind fixed on her destination, not allowing it the luxury of wandering. Not until she got away from everyone. Away from the laughter and smiles and all-around happiness.

A few of her friends smiled or waved cheerfully to her hurried form, but all she could manage was a small nod in their direction. Her heart was too heavy for her hand to wave, too forlorn for her lips to smile.

When she at last broke free of the dormitory's walls, Molly lifted her face to the sun and breathed deeply, letting the warmth act as a balm to her soul. This…this she could handle. This emblem of joy she welcomed.

Quickening her pace, the eighteen-year-old headed for the beach, straining to catch the sounds of seagulls' cries and the crash of waves against the shore. The trip took her fifteen minutes at a rapid pace, but she found the exercise refreshing. Especially on such a gorgeous, but rare, afternoon. Most people these days simply beamed to their destination, too impatient to absorb their surroundings. Not Molly.

She'd grown up first on a starship and then on a space station, surrounded by all things technical. Replicators to fix her meals, turbolifts to move her from one level to the next, computers to tell her everything she cared to know. And, for the first six years of her life, it had been natural.

It hadn't mattered that there weren't any trees to climb on the Promenade—she'd preferred her daddy's arms instead. The absence of caves to explore in the corridors had never bothered her. She'd only known about caves from school, and hadn't liked what she'd learned. Too dark and damp for her liking. No lakes had awaited her in the bathroom; a steaming bubble bath with her favorite bath toys had made up for that. No butterflies had existed to catch before they flitted out the viewports, but pretending she could touch the stars had been much better.

So she lived in space—what was so awful about that? Molly had laughed and played like a normal child in a normal home, and she'd carried a little-girl joy inside her that, her mother had once said, charmed even the Klingon's heart.

She hadn't fallen in love with nature until she turned seven. That was the first year they'd made the day trip to Golana, for a picnic and botany lesson. As it turned out, they'd never gotten around to the botany lesson—her mother had been too busy playing tag with her, her father trying to keep up with a holocam. Molly smiled, remembering the sunshiny hours she'd spent tumbling about in the grass, laughing as it tickled her cheeks. That had been the day everything changed.

From that point on, Molly distinctly remembered the times when she felt most alive as during the O'Brien Family Picnics on Golana. There she had leapt, tumbled, and laughed in the rolling green hills like any other girl her age. There she had dreamt and giggled until all that filled her mind were images of exotic animals and the smell of sweet green grass. Out there, in the intoxicating, open Unknown, Molly O'Brien had beenachild.

The hill beneath her feet crested, and Molly stopped to drink in the sight. Gulls soared overhead, wings tilting on the wind's lazy currents. The grass underfoot faded into powdery sand, and the sand into sparkling seawater. In the distance rose the Golden Gate Bridge, its burnished red-orange brilliant against the ocean's green highlights.

The dim roar of the waves beating upon the shore sounded as glorious as a Klingon opera to Molly's hungry ears; the tang of salt seasoned the air, stinging her eyes and throat in its welcome familiarity. Molly closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the memories wash over her. Yes, she loved space, loved the thrill and mystery and adventure. But there was nothing quite like _terra firma_ to bring her to life.

After Golana, she had always felt a nagging sense of discomfort growing up on Deep Space 9.

Except for on the holo-beach.

A smile tugged her lips. At her father's request (and with the help of generous compensation), Quark had constructed a beach holoprogram especially for Molly's use. The Ferengi barkeep had outdone himself in the programming, creating the warmest sand and clearest sky a child space-resident could ask for. Molly-O's Beach, he'd dubbed it. And so it had been.

Molly fondly recalled the many hours she'd spent playing in the find golden sand of the shore. The swimming lessons her father had given her in the tide pools on his days off. The day she'd swum with dolphins. She sighed. Those had been perhaps her favorite hours aboard the station.

She walked the remaining distance to the shore, kicked off her sandals, ad dropped the satchel to the sand. Then, after rolling up her pant legs, she padded down to the water.

The sand was cool and firm beneath her feet, giving only slightly under her weight. When she reached the waterline, she stopped, waiting for the next wave. It came, lapping about her ankles in a warm rush. _Welcome back_, the shushing waters seemed to say, _we've missed you._

Molly let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. How long had it been since she'd come here? _Too long_, she decided, and waded a bit further into the water.

She stood there—for how long she didn't know—eyes shut and head tilted back. The waves slapped against her knees, the sun shone upon her shoulders, and an ocean breeze played melodies through her hair. The three wove together, creating a strand of memories that stretched deep into Molly's heart with their little-girl perspective.

_The sand's golden warmth…seagull chases…lopsided sandcastles…exotic shells…warm seawater tickling her toes…salt wind teasing her hair…sleek gray dolphins…cartwheels collapsed into the sand…family picnics…Yoshi's delighted grin…her mother's tender smile…her father's undivided attention…a laughing face… eyes bluer than the sky…long brown hair that matched—_

Molly jerked her thoughts away from their intended path and sloshed her way to the shore, attempting to stuff her emotions back into the closet. But, by the time she'd stormed onto the beach and dropped Indian style to the sand, she hadn't succeeded. They were out, running rampant, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Molly buried her face in her hands, eyes stinging as if she'd spilled soap in them.

62014.

The stardate echoed through her mind, her tears flowing freely. Salt mixed with salt; memory mixed with memory. The doors to yesterday's halls _shushed_ open, beckoning her into their shadows. She moved haltingly, still not ready to endure the pain. Unsure whether she could withstand the onslaught of memories long locked tight.

Molly drew to the lip of the threshold, teary brown eyes gazing into the corridor. Could she do it? Could she withstand the emotion cresting on the other side? She licked her lips, uncertainty nipping at her willpower.

It took only a moment for her to realize. It didn't matter if she stepped past the bulkhead or not—the monstrous wave inside wouldn't wait forever. The door was open, now, the wave free to crash down upon her. Either way, the memories, the loss, the pain, were coming. Whether she was ready or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**2374**

Molly was tired. Her head hurt, her eyes were sore and puffy, and her big toe ached where she'd stubbed it an hour ago. And she missed Daddy. Lots.

Somebody jostled past her, and she cast about for her mother's comforting presence. For a terrifying moment, all she saw was the jumble of aliens and flashy colors that made up the Promenade. Molly panicked, shoving past a squat Ferengi and blue-skinned Andorian in an attempt to find her mother. In her haste, she almost ran into her.

_"Mommy!"_ she wanted to cry out, but she merely buried her face in her mother's long red shirt and tried to stop her frightened tears. Molly didn't want to get in trouble, and letting Mommy know that she hadn't been paying attention would upset her. Besides, Yoshi had been crying all day, except for when Dax came, and Mommy was tired. More tired than Molly.

The thought of Dax's visit made Molly smile through her tears. She loved Dax. Dax was her best friend, and she even had a special nickname for her. _Zia._ No one else called Dax by that name. Only Molly. Mommy told her that she'd first used it when she was four, because she couldn't say _Jadzia_. Her lips wouldn't work right, because she was still little. Even though Molly was all grown up now—eight years old—she still called her Zia, because it was special. She liked the way Zia smiled whenever she called her that. Like the way Molly smiled whenever she remembered the picnics on Golana, or the time Mommy had taken her swimming with dolphins in the holosuite.

Molly suddenly realized that her mother had been standing still for a long time. She peered around the soft fabric of her mother's shirt. Yoshi was asleep on Mommy's shoulder, and nobody was talking to her, so why had she stopped?

Molly stepped away to get a better look. They were standing in the middle of a bunch of moving people, right across from the Bajoran shrine. Molly liked the shrine's lanterns—they were so gentle and pretty compared to all the other lights on the Promenade. So peaceful. Mommy liked them, too. Maybe that's why she'd stopped walking.

Molly frowned. There sure were a lot of people coming out of the shrine. And they didn't look like the people that normally came out, the ones that walked all slow and happy, with smiles on their faces and sparkles in their eyes. These people were in a hurry, all worried and sad, and hunched over an antigrav. Molly tilted her head, trying to see who was on it, but Doctor Bashir was in the way. She was about to give up when he moved, and she saw who it was.

Dax.

What was Dax doing on an antigrav? Molly's eyes tracked the group as it moved across the Promenade. Dax was in her uniform, lying like she was asleep. Her eyes were closed—Molly could see that because Dax's head was turned to the side, with her hand curled up next to her cheek. Maybe she was sleeping. But why were they taking her to the Infirmary, and why did she look so hurt and upset? Molly could tell that by the way the skin between her eyebrows was all wrinkled. Mommy had looked like that last week when she'd cut her arm. She'd bled a whole lot before Doctor Bashir fixed it, and had had to stay in the Infirmary that night. Molly looked, but couldn't see any blood on Dax. What was wrong with her?

"Mommy?" Molly looked up at her mother. Something was wrong with Zia. "Mommy, what's wrong with Dax? Why is she sleeping in the 'firm'ry?"

For a minute, Molly thought Mommy hadn't heard her, but then she blinked and looked down at her. The look in Mommy's eyes frightened her. They were all bright and watery, like they were when she got worried. Molly felt her heart beat faster, like when she'd slipped on the ledge in Golana and fallen into the strange cave.

"I don't know, honey. But I'm sure—" Mommy stopped, and Molly could see her swallow, "—I'm sure everything's okay. She wouldn't go there without a reason."

"You mean she's sick?"

"No, no, honey. Nothing like that. Dax is fine. Now let's get Yoshi into bed. He's fallen asleep on my shoulder."

She took Molly's hand and started walking again, heading toward the turbolift. Molly glanced backward, but Doctor Bashir and the others had already disappeared into the Infirmary. As she walked, she tried to believe Mommy's words, but couldn't. There was a dark, worried voice inside her that wouldn't let her, that told her Zia wasn't okay, and that something was terribly wrong.

But what?

**2384 **

Back on the beach, Molly drew a shaky breath and opened her eyes. She touched her fingertips to the tears tracking her cheeks. This was harder than she'd thought it would be. Much harder. Remembering her life on DS9, those final days with Jadzia…the pain was almost impossible to bear.

And yet, even as she struggled to breathe, Molly felt the memories pulling her back, drawing her into their embrace. Pieces of that day drifted about her, like flotsam on the waves. She reached for them, for they seemed her only lifeline.

After the incident on the Promenade, her mother had rushed her back to their quarters and tucked her into bed, murmuring reassurances all the way. Now, looking back, Molly realized that her mother had been trying to allay her own fears more than Molly's. Molly, at eight, was only old enough to realize that something was wrong, and to wonder about it silently. Keiko, however, was an adult, and had to worry not only about the impact of Jadzia's plight on herself, but also on the ones she loved. Molly being the primary cause for concern.

Still, despite her young age, Molly remembered not being able to sleep that night for the cloud of worry hovering over her. She recalled tossing and turning in her bed, sitting up and lying down, over and over again. When she'd finally fallen asleep, the terrors stalking her dreams had left her crying and exhausted the next day.

The day she learned the truth about Zia.

**2374**

Molly woke to the sound of voices in the living room. Who was Mommy talking to? She lay still, trying to pick out the murmured words. It didn't take long for her to realize who the mystery person was.

"Daddy!" the excited cry left her lips even before her feet hit the floor. She hurtled into the living room, her heart beating happily. Daddy was home early! Maybe now he could take her to the holo-beach, like he'd promised a week ago. Before he had to take a long trip on the _Defiant_, with Worf and Captain Sisko.

Molly stopped behind the couch where her parents were sitting. The excitement drained from her small frame as she remembered last night.

_Zia._ Something was wrong. Dax had gone to the Infirmary last night, and Daddy was home early. That meant Worf was home early, too. Why?

"Molly? Molly, honey, come here."

At the sound of Daddy's voice, Molly looked up. He looked very white and tired, old, like Grampa O'Brien. And Mommy hadn't scolded her for being noisy while Yoshi was asleep. Now Molly was sure something was wrong. She walked around the couch to Daddy.

"What's wrong, Daddy? Why're you home early?" Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her lip. She was a big girl. Eight was too old to cry.

She looked at Mommy, and what she saw scared her. "Mommy?" Molly touched Mommy's cheek. "Mommy, why are you crying?"

Mommy's face crumpled, and she hid it in her hands. Terrified, Molly turned to her father. Daddy was always strong, always knew what to do and say. And he never cried. She felt his arms move around her waist; her nose pressed into the crinkled gray of his uniform. The tears stung harder, and Molly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold them back. She couldn't cry. There wasn't anything to cry about.

Yet.

Daddy held her like that for a long time, with Mommy crying softly beside them. For a while, Molly was content to stay that way, held tightly in her father's arms. But even in the safest, most comforting place she knew, the black cloud over her heart wouldn't go away.

Molly pulled back, a single tear tracking her cheek. "Daddy, what's wrong?" She put her hands on his cheeks and made him look into her eyes. She was serious, very serious, and wanted him to know that. "You have to tell me."

He was quiet for a long, long time, just looking at her. Molly watched his eyes, thinking that if she looked hard enough she could see what was wrong. But all she saw were Daddy's sad gray-blue eyes, bright and watery. Like Mommy's had been last night.

The fear reached right down to her toes now, making her so cold that she shivered. "Daddy," she hesitated. "Daddy, what's wrong with Zia? Why'd she sleep in the 'firm'ry?"

"Oh, Mol," Daddy sighed, closing his eyes. "Dax…Dax got hurt. Very badly."

The fear shuddered through her again. "How badly?"

"Very." The word came out heavy and sad. Just like the tears spilling from Daddy's eyes.

"Can I see her? I'll draw a picture for her, to make her feel better. Then she'll smile. I like it when Zia smiles. She's not too hurt to smile, is she, Daddy?"

Oh, how sad he looked. "Mol…Dax—Jadzia—died last night."

The fear froze in her, and Molly couldn't move. She couldn't see, and she couldn't understand what else Daddy was saying. Nothing made sense. For several minutes, she just stood there, unable to see or hear or move.

Then, so softly she could barely feel it, something clicked inside her, and she could move again. But her mind still couldn't understand what Daddy had said. Only that it was very bad, terrible, and had changed her entire eight-year-old life in an instant.

"Molly? Molly, honey, say something."

She heard Mommy's thick voice, a crying sort of voice, one that made Molly's heart thump like she was afraid, but she couldn't obey it. Molly knew she could move now, and that her lips would work if she wanted them to, but she couldn't obey Mommy, because…

Because she didn't know what to say.

* * *

><p>For days, Molly said nothing, just wandered around the O'Briens' quarters, eyes open but blind. None of her toys held any comfort—not even her beloved, wrinkle-nosed doll, Lupi. She never got dressed by herself, barely ate at mealtimes, and hardly touched her prized Bolian crayons. All she did was sit at the viewport and hold Chester, their pet cat, close to her little chest.<p>

Molly, in her eight-year-old mind, didn't know exactly what she was doing, just that she was handling herself the only way she could. She was vaguely conscious of her parents' worry, their sad eyes and troubled looks whenever they saw her sitting at the viewport, staring vacantly out at the stars. She registered their hushed voices and caught words like _depression_, _concerned_, and _counselor_, but never wondered what they were or why her parents were discussing them. In fact, Molly never wondered about anything.

Except what was going on inside her.

She stayed like that for several days—she still wasn't sure how long—listless and glassy-eyed, mute and uncaring, it seemed.

Then, one day, it happened.

* * *

><p>She was sitting in her customary spot at the viewport, Chester warm and purring on her sedentary form. Mommy was brushing her tangled locks, talking softly to her about Golana and the picnic Daddy was planning for next week. Normally, the prospect of such a trip would've excited Molly, because they only went on Golana picnics once a year; this second one would've been a treat. But nothing excited Molly lately, so she sat, silent, eyes dotted with stars.<p>

She heard the doors slide open, and knew that Daddy was home. Funny. He was early. But that didn't matter; her hand ran down the long gray hairs of Chester's back. She liked the way her fingers hummed with his purr, the way it sent warm tingles up her arm and into her chest. It was the only thing she could really feel anymore.

Mommy stopped brushing and turned to Daddy, and Molly knew without turning that she was giving him that worried look of hers. Then, just like yesterday and the day before that and the day before that, Molly felt Daddy's arms slide around her. Chester jumped from his perch and swished to the couch, patiently waiting for the master to finish with his daughter.

"Hey, Molly," Daddy said, pressing his cheek to hers. "How was today?"

No answer. Molly's lips felt glued shut.

"Did Mommy tell you about the picnic? I thought we'd go next week, just you and me and Mommy. Aunt Nerys would keep Yoshi. What d'you think? Sound like fun?"

Still nothing. Daddy sighed.

"You hungry? No? What about…coloring? You could finish that picture you started of Chester." A pause. "I know; let's go to the holo-beach. We haven't been there in a while, have we? What d'you say?"

_Holo-beach._

Zia used to take her to the holo-beach, when she would come to play.

Something cracked inside Molly. Something deep down, something big and thick and dark. Her heart fluttered, and then jumped in a way that made it hard to breathe. She blinked. Why was her chest so tight? It hurt, and she couldn't breathe. What was wrong with her? Molly's eyes stung, and she felt something hot on her cheeks. With a start, she realized she was crying.

"Mol?"

Daddy's voice was soft in her ear, and she turned toward it, knowing something warm and gentle waited there, held close in his arms. She grabbed two jerky breaths and leaned against him, burying her wet face in his shoulder. Her chest burned. Daddy held her in his lap, rocking on the ledge, stroking her hair as he did.

Her breaths jerked harder now, and the tears came faster. Molly didn't know what to do, so she just let it happen. The whole time, Daddy held her close, pressed against his heart, and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, Mol. It's okay to be sad. Zia was your friend. I know you miss her. We all miss her, Mol. She was…she was something special, wasn't she? She lit up a room, just by walking into it. Jus' like you, Mol. Jus' like you.

"You go ahead an' cry, Mol. I'm here. Daddy's got you. Cry, Mol, let it all out. It'll make you feel better. I know you're sad. I'm sad, too. So's Mommy. We'll all be sad together. Shh, Daddy's got you. Daddy's got you. I'm here…you'll be all right. Shh…"


	3. Chapter 3

**2384**

_"Shh, Daddy's got you. Daddy's got you. I'm here…you'll be all right. Shh…"_

Her father's words, ten years old, echoed through Molly's mind as she hunched on the beach, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. As she sat there, arms clasping her legs to her chest, forehead pressing against her knees, and tears soaking through the fabric of her pants, Molly felt eight years old again.

Yes, she had changed—a lot—in ten years. She'd grown taller, filled out, cut her hair from waist-length to shoulder-length, entered Starfleet Academy, and, along the way, gained a decade's worth of laughter, lessons, and pain. In a dozen different ways, Molly O'Brien was no longer a child. But in these…the darkest hours of her childhood she'd never allowed herself to relive, Molly was still a little girl.

Now, a decade too late, Molly let it all out. As her tears poured out, so did the memories; they unwound and sprang forth, at last loosed from their dungeon of careful ignorance. Memory after memory surged out of the stale hole, piling on top of each other in a seemingly endless cascade.

She remembered the memorial service; the tears mingled with the smiles, the flashes of laughter intermixed with choked remembrances of Jadzia Dax, a flame of vitality and mainstay of fun times in the lives of all who knew her.

She remembered the trembling, but somehow resolute, timbre of her father's voice as he recounted his fondest memories of Jadzia, his recollections of a dedicated officer, fun-loving spirit, and loyal friend.

She remembered the way her mother had squeezed her hand when she rose to speak, to offer a final goodbye to her daughter's mentor and her own close friend.

She remembered the tears slipping down Aunt Nerys's cheeks as she recounted the admiration and respect she, as Major Kira, had held for Lieutenant Commander Dax, but more importantly, the sisterhood she, as simply Nerys, had shared with Jadzia.

She remembered Worf and Captain Sisko's unquestioned silence; the pain shuddering across their faces had been answer enough.

She remembered Dr. Bashir's strangled apology to Jadzia, to all of them, for his failure to save their precious friend.

She remembered them all—Quark, Jake, Rom, Nog, Leeta, Odo, a dozen others—and their memorials, their tributes to someone whose loss they knew they'd never fully comprehend.

Molly remembered. And through it all, she grieved.

* * *

><p>Some time later, when the moment's tears were spent, Molly unfolded herself and smoothed her feet down the sand. She felt lighter, less desolate, than an hour before. Unlocking her memories of Jadzia's death had been painful—agonizingly so, but…it had been a healthy pain. A pain that signaled the birth of healing. Molly knew she still had a long way to go; healing didn't happen overnight. But she'd taken the first—the hardest—step.<p>

Molly sighed and dug her toes into the sand, past the sun-warmed surface and into the cool of the lower layers. She gazed out at the Bridge, taken to a new level of brilliance by the westward-moving sun. Her fingers played over the replicated straps of her sandals, coming to rest on the fabric of her satchel.

The satchel.

Molly closed her eyes, knowing what she must do next. Knowing that it wouldn't be easy. But nothing about this day had been easy. Swallowing, she lifted the satchel onto her lap.

She didn't open her eyes until she'd set it onto her legs and returned her fingers to the sand. Even then, she just sat, staring at the navy fabric, searching for the courage to open it.

At last, she lifted her hand once more and slipped it into the bag. Her fingers brushed the cool casing of a Starfleet-issue padd, and she had to fight the urge to do homework. Instead, she dug deeper, searching for it. Knowing that, eventually, she'd have to pick it up, hold it, feel it, and open it. Finding it, she pulled it free of its cloth cave.

The box's wood was silky against her fingertips, smooth from months of old-style sanding and nine years of handling. It fit snugly in her palm, no longer too large for her child's hand to grasp. At that moment, it seemed as if the box had shrunk, and Molly hadn't grown at all. The warmth of the grain against her palm, the tang of salt nipping her lungs, the crash of the waves upon the sand—they twined together into a rope that pulled Molly into the past, to the day her father had taken her to the holo-beach and given her the box.

"_Here, Molly, I've got something for you."_

"_What is it, Daddy? What?"_

_The velvety touch of the box slid into her nine-year-old fingers, warmed by the strong, gentle grip of her father's hand. A delighted smile splashed onto her face, her fingers exploring the chestnut treasure._

"_A box!" she cried._

"_Yeah, Mol, a treasure box. To put all your special things in."_

The memory faded, and Molly's smile along with it. So many objects had nestled under that box's lid those first few years. But as she'd grown older, their excitement had faded, and into the trash receptacle they'd gone.

Molly lifted the lid to reveal the item on top. So many things come and gone. But only one object, one treasure, had found its way into that box the first day and never found its way out.

Jadzia's hairclip.

Molly blinked back a rush of tears at the sight of the rounded edges and gold plating. Seeing it brought back so many memories—happy memories that made her smile, despite her stinging eyes.

She let her mind wander back to the day Jadzia had first come over. She'd been six years old, and Zia had never come to her quarters to play before. Molly had been over to Zia's quarters, and they'd played together lots of times on the holo-beach, but never at Molly's quarters. She smiled as she recalled her bouncy, little-girl excitement leading up to that night.

Then, with a swirl of warmth, Molly remembered how Jadzia had played with her hair, talking with her while twisting it into fancy braids, just like the princesses in her bedtime stories…

"_There, Princess Molly, how does that look?" Jadzia, from her place on the O'Briens' floor, held up a mirror._

_Molly stretched her arms out as flat as they would go and tilted the mirror this way and that, craning to see her princess braids. She felt Zia's eyes watching her, and knew without looking that she wore her special, soft-eyed smile. It gave Molly's tummy a happy tickle to know that. _

"_Very nice, 'mander Hairdresser. I 'mend you for a job well done," Molly pronounced solemnly. Very 'propriately for a princess. She'd been practicing extra hard, too._

"_Why, thank you, Princess Molly!" Zia laughed, tucking the mirror away. "What shall we do now?"_

_Molly frowned and thought. She even felt her forehead wrinkle, and that only happened when she thought very hard. "How 'bout we color?"_

_Zia nodded firmly and climbed to her knees. "Yes, ma'am," she said, saluting sharply. "Lead the way."_

_Molly giggled and ran to the table, where Mommy had left coloring paper and Molly's favorite crayons. _

"_You're 'specially lucky, 'mander Hairdresser—these are Bolian crayons!"_

"_Oh, my," Zia said, her eyes getting round. "I've never colored with Bolian crayons before."_

_Molly unsealed her crayon box and pulled out a handful of colored sticks. "Here, pick your favorite color. But only one at a time. Gotta be careful, 'kay?"_

_For a while, they chattered about Golana, the holo-beach, the wormhole's pretty blue color, Dr. Bashir's darts game, and a dozen other things princesses and their commander hairdressers talked about. _

_They'd been coloring for nearly half and hour when Zia lifted her paper, showing it to Molly. "What do you think?"_

_Molly tilted her head, trying to make sense of what she saw. "What is it?"_

_Zia made a face, as if to say, 'Don't you know?' Then, she said, "It's Worf. Can't you see?"_

_Molly's frown deepened, but she soon burst into giggles. "Silly Zia! That's not Worf!"_

"_No? Then who is it?" Zia asked. But then she started laughing too, and they ended up in a tickle fight._

_When at last they settled down, it was Molly's bedtime, and Zia, after helping her into her PJs, read her a bedtime story (but not Rumpelstiltskin, 'cause he still scared her from a long time ago, when he'd come to visit). Then, she gave her a goodnight kiss and turned to leave._

"_Zia?" Molly called, not moving from her pillow._

_Jadzia turned to look back, a smile shining in her pretty blue eyes. "Yes?"_

"_What do you look like with your hair down, like a princess?"_

Then Molly remembered how Jadzia had unclipped her hair, and the little gasp that had left her lips when she'd seen the Trill standing with her hair down. So pretty, with her dark tresses spilling over her shoulders, delicate spots framing dancing eyes.

She remembered the way she'd always played with Jadzia's hair after that, every time she came to visit. One of those times had been the day Jadzia gave her the gold hairclip, right before she started wearing the silver one. Back then, Molly had wanted to be just like Zia when she grew up. Tall and pretty, always smiling, always a friend, and never ignoring the forgotten.

Molly sighed at the memories, letting them wash over her with their special, healing warmth.

She remembered all the times Zia had taken her to the holo-beach, how she'd taught her how to build sandcastles like they did on Trill and showed her all the good places to find shells (even though Molly couldn't take them back to her quarters).

She remembered the time they'd found a live starfish washed up on the sand and the gentleness in Zia's hands as she'd tossed it back into the sea, explaining that it would dry out and die if they left it in the hot sun.

She sat there and remembered all the smiles and laughter, and every game and fun time they'd shared.

Molly sniffed and swiped a tear from her cheek. Jadzia had been special, her best friend. They'd done so much together. And now…Molly bit her lip. Now all she had left were memories. Bits of happiness scattered throughout an ocean of hurt.

And yet…Molly smiled. What happy memories they were! Why had she kept them buried inside her for so long? Why not relive them every day, in celebration of Jadzia's life, rather than locked away inside her, as if the vibrant woman had never lived?

The realization of what she'd done for ten years hit Molly fully, and she felt ashamed. Granted, a little girl could hardly understand why certain parts of her felt better when ignored, but a teenager? A young woman?

Her head drooped along with her shoulders, her eyes falling once more to the golden hairclip. She couldn't stop her fingers as they rose and dipped into the box, hovered over the clip, and finally picked it up.

For a while, Molly just sat there, a faint smile on her lips, letting her fingers play across the clip's cool metal contours. Then, with movements as familiar to her as breathing, she gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and snapped the clip into place.

A strange peace flooded Molly's body at the action. A peace that told her she was ready to continue with the memories.

Again, her fingers dipped into the box, this time withdrawing a small, elegantly wrought frame. Turning it over, Molly gazed down at the holo-image held within.

Two faces stared back at her, wreathed in the blue of the sky. One young with a laughing smile; the other older with twin columns of spots framing her shining eyes. Molly's heart ached with the memories.

"Zia…I've missed you."

She couldn't have held the words in any more than she could have stopped her heart from beating.

"It's been a long time since you left; a lot of things have happened. We moved to Earth when I turned nine. Seems like a lot of people were leaving the station then. But it was a long time ago, and I can't remember very well. I do remember you, though. How could I not? You were my best friend." Molly uttered a gentle laugh. "My 'mander Hairdresser, right?

"Guess I haven't had much time for playing princess, lately. Starfleet's not very big on dress-up. Not that I wanted to. It wasn't the same without you. Mom made a good hairdresser, but she was never a _Commander_ Hairdresser, you know?"

Molly sighed.

"I can't believe it's been ten years since you died. _Ten years._ I've grown up a lot since then. So has Yoshi. He's so big—you wouldn't even recognize him. He's gotten pretty good at Parisees Squares. Dad keeps bragging that he'll make a career out of it, make the O'Brien name famous. Hmm." Molly smiled. "I'd say he's done a pretty good job of that himself.

"Like I said, a lot's happened since you died. The war finally ended, and Captain Sisko went to live with the aliens in the wormhole for the longest time—almost a year. They sent him back just in time for his daughter's birth.

"He married Kasidy Yates; I forgot to tell you that. That probably made you smile, didn't it? I remember Dad saying you liked her a lot. I can see why. She's so sweet, and really a wonderful mother, from what I've seen when we've visited them on Bajor.

"They named her Rachel Jadzia, after you. Their daughter, I mean. Rachel Jadzia Sisko. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? She looks just like Kasidy, but she has Captain Sisko's eyes. They would've named you godmother, but…Well, I guess you know what happened."

Molly looked out at the ocean and drew a shaky breath. "It was hard, Jadzia. Especially when Ezri came on the station. Just when I'd started accepting that you—Dax—weren't around anymore, this new Trill showed up and everyone started calling _her_ Dax. I was so confused. Daddy tried to explain it to me, but I couldn't understand the concept of Trill hosts and symbionts. All I knew was there was this woman named Dax walking around the station, and she wasn't you.

"You couldn't be more different, actually. She was short—shorter than I am now—and you were tall. She had hair cut like a boy's, and yours was always long and pretty, like a princess's. She could barely finish a sentence, and you always knew what to say. She was always worried, or apologizing, when I was around her, and you were busy playing with my hair or coloring pictures with me and making me laugh. About the only thing you had in common were your eyes—they were the same brilliant shade of blue. And I couldn't stand to look at them."

Molly ducked her head and laughed humorlessly. "It hurt too much. So I tried to stay away from her as much as I could. It was like she reminded me of you, but in all the wrong ways, you know? I mean, she had your eyes, and the spots, and the same color hair. And the name Dax. But her eyes didn't smile like yours did; they just seemed kind of afraid at first. And then, when she'd been on DS9 for a few months, they started laughing. But they never smiled. And her spots were lighter, and her hair was short. And she wasn't Zia. She was Ezri."

Molly fell silent, studying the picture in her hands. Jadzia and six-year-old Molly smiled back at her, their laughter frozen in time. The soothing crash of waves upon the sand surrounded her, offering a blanket of comfort to her troubled heart. When she was ready, she continued.

"And because of that…because she was Ezri Dax, and not Zia…I stayed away from her. It's been nine years since I last saw her, in fact. I have no idea where she is now, or what she's doing. If she's married.

"You would have liked her, I think. I just told you all the bad things about her, the things I didn't like. She was really quite kind and funny, and laughed a lot. I just couldn't get past the fact that she had your name, but wasn't you. Your eyes, but not your smile. So I…tried to forget Dax. I gathered every memory I had of you and locked them all up tight, where they couldn't slip out and make me cry.

"But now I realize that I could never forget you, Zia. You meant—mean—too much to me, made too much of an impact on my life for your memory to die. I guess that's what today is all about—letting everything out and working through my pain. Spending time remembering you. Celebrating you. Thanking you." _Making up for the last decade._

Silence. The breeze strengthened, pouring over Molly's upturned face and drying the remnants of her tears. She felt something akin to that breeze ripple over her heart, like clear spring water tumbling over a sun-baked rock.

Was this what remembering felt like?

Molly was certain it was.

Her eyes lilted closed, and she clasped her knees to her chest. The gentle breeze continued to flow across her face, and the remembrance to purl against her heart.

"Jadzia loved the beach."

The voice that sounded behind her came straight from her childhood, and for a moment Molly thought she'd imagined it. Surely it wasn't…it couldn't possibly be—she turned around.

"Worf!" she cried, exploding from the sand. How could—why was—what brought—? The questions came so fast that she couldn't lock onto any of them long enough to complete them.

She ran to the Klingon, and, before she could think better of it, threw her arms around his burly form. Several moments too late, she realized her _faux pas_ and hastily drew back. But something stopped her. Physically.

Startled, Molly looked down and realized that Worf was actually returning her hug. Awkwardly, a bit sheepishly (if Klingons could feel sheepish), but still returning it. Something warm and happy washed over Molly, and she rested her head on the Klingon's chest once more.

At last she drew back, her questions too impatient to wait. "What are you doing here?" she asked, not giving a thought to her potential rudeness. She returned to her spot on the sand, and Worf followed her. "I thought you were living on Qo'noS. Permanently."

"I am," he replied, and fell silent for a long minute. Molly remained quiet and took the time to study him.

He hadn't changed much in ten years—other than seeming shorter than she remembered, and much less intimidating (these observations she attributed solely to the changes in herself). He looked maybe a few years older, with hints of gray at his temples, but outwardly the years had been kind to him. He still wore his hair long, and tied back in an unKlingon-like display of restraint, and he carried himself much the same way. That is, he remained stiff and slightly hesitant, as if always on guard for something bad to happen.

Molly's nine-year-old mind hadn't known enough to put these impressions into words, but her memories told her that Worf hadn't changed since she saw him on Qo'noS five years earlier, or even since he and her father had parted ways nine years ago.

They reached Molly's belongings on the sand and halted their walk, both gazing at the sparkling turquoise waters. Molly crossed her arms and waited, even though her curiosity begged her to prod Worf for details.

Why was he here? What had brought him all the way from Qo'noS? Was it like he'd hinted, because of Jadzia, because she'd loved the beach so much? But why this beach? Was he on some sort of remembrance journey for her? Or was he here on business, as the Federation Ambassador to the Empire? The questions paraded before her _ad infinitum_, and she struggled not to fidget. She dug her toes into the sand and gave herself a lecture, complete with mental finger-shaking and death glares.

_Worf will talk when he's ready. Give him space. Let him breathe. Let him remember. He's probably going through what you are—remembering Jadzia and hurting from her loss. And if so, he's in even greater pain than you are, because he was her husband. He knew her better than anyone, except for maybe Captain Sisko. Try to understand where he's coming from._

"Your father said you would be down here."

Molly resisted the urge to let her jaw drop. _Definitely not what I was expecting. _

"Why'd you want to know?" she asked as casually as she could. "I figure you'd want to spend time catching up with him rather than me. I was only a girl on Deep Space 9."

"He did not know her like you did."

Molly suddenly felt as if her lungs had been exposed to a vacuum. "Wh-what do you mean?" she stammered.

Worf turned to look at her, his brown eyes solemn but penetrating. That was another thing she remembered about Worf: his eyes. "It has been ten years; I needed to find someone who understood."

Molly let the words sink in before she nodded, slowly. Yes, she was beginning to understand.

"Why not Captain Sisko? He was closer to her than any of us. Except you."

Silence. Then, a deep breath: "Captain Sisko will always be that—my captain. It would not feel…right…talking to him in this way. I admire him as my superior officer, and respect him as an honorable man, but that is all. He would understand, of that I have no doubt. He…proved that to me once, shortly before…" his voice trailed away; still, Molly heard what he left unsaid.

Worf squared his shoulders and continued. "But I would gain nothing from it, save discomfort."

Molly blinked, trying to see the logic in it. _But this is a Klingon, not a Vulcan_, she reminded herself.

"Major Kira, then?"

Worf shook his head. "Odo has returned from the Great Link. I do not wish to disturb their reunion."

"So you came to me."

"Yes."

Molly felt at a loss. What was she supposed to say? What was Worf seeking in her, an eighteen-year-old cadet just now embracing healing herself? What could she possibly offer to a grieving widower? He was more than twenty-five years her senior. How could she help him?

She stared out at the ocean, as if its rolling waves would bring her the answers she sought.

"Jadzia's hairclip."

Molly glanced up at Worf and blinked. "Pardon?"

"You are wearing Jadzia's hairclip, are you not?"

"Oh." _Oh._ "Yes. I am. She…gave it to me for my eighth birthday. So we could match. Mine was gold, and hers was—"

"—silver," Worf finished softly. "Yes. I remember it well. She started wearing it on the mission to destroy the ketracel-white facility in Cardassian space. I did not see it until several weeks later, when the _Rotarran_ rescued her group from a planet nearby. She…wore it until the end."

_The end. _As if Jadzia's life had been a mere story, something to be recounted around the dinner table or told to a child as a bedtime tale. Still, Molly understood Worf's choice of words. They numbed at least some of the pain.

An idea struck her, and Molly turned to her belongings. "Here," she said simply, and held out the holo-image.

Almost reverently, Worf reached out and took the frame, gazing into it intently. Tears nipped at Molly's eyes, and she fought to swallow past the lump in her throat.

"That was a birthday present from Mom, when I turned seven. I've kept it in my box all these years because it hurt too much to look at it. But I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. Just like the hairclip."

Worf nodded, still lost in the picture. "You were on the holo-beach." It was more statement than question, but Molly answered anyway.

"Yes. Quark called it Molly-O's beach. It was my favorite place to play."

Worf blinked and returned the frame to Molly. To her, it seemed as if the Klingon had just surfaced from a deep pool. A familiar pool. "She spoke often of it," he said, voice soft. "I believe it was one of her favorite places to go."

"Really?"

"Yes. She always loved playing with you and Yoshi. She could not get enough of you. In a way…you gave her something she never had the chance to have herself."

The stinging returned, and Molly blinked furiously. But in her heart, an impossible lightness rose, dancing inside her like a flame.

"She always wanted children."

Worf's broken words were almost too much; even with her happiness, Molly felt the crushing weight of life's unfairness, felt helpless against it. _She always wanted children. _She glanced down at the picture in her hand, down at those laughing blue eyes.

Suddenly, she knew what to do. How she could comfort Worf.

Slowly, Molly slid her arm around his back until it reached his other side, so that she stood close enough to him to rest her head on his muscled shoulder. Then she stood there, leaning slightly into him, and watched the sun sink slowly into the ocean. Gradually, Worf's stiff limbs loosened, relaxing into Molly's half-embrace and drawing comfort from her sprite-like presence.

It was the most wonderful, peaceful feeling Molly had ever felt.

It wasn't until the sun's rim had sunk below the horizon, leaving behind a stunning canvas of magenta, purple, and gold streaked across the sky, that Molly's hold loosened and Worf moved away from her.

"I still miss her. Now more than ever, I realize," Molly admitted, her voice low and wistful against the evening breeze. "But coming here…and reliving the memories…it makes me realize that she's not really gone, you know? She's still there in our hearts, laughing and smiling and living. As long as we remember her…she's alive."

Worf's chin rose, a black projection against the fiery sunset. "Yes," he said, slowly.

Silence.

Then, "Every sun that rises must set, and for every glorious sunrise, there is always a dying sunset. But I have found…through many years…that the sunsets are what I remember most. A sun may be magnificent in its rise, ablaze with yellows and golds and all the shades in between, but its beauty soon fades into the weariness of everyday life.

"It is the setting, the death, of the sun that clothes the skies with glory and, as it draws its final breath, scatters reds, purples, pinks, and golds across their splendor. And in doing so, it burns an image onto one's heart that will never, no matter the darkness following, fade away."

Molly felt the tears in her eyes, and the smile on her lips as she listened to Worf's hushed words, tinged with the precious beauty of sorrow.

"Yes," she whispered happily, just as twin diamonds dropped to her cheeks and glistened in the waning sunlight. "Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

The doors before her _shushed_ open, and Molly stepped into her dorm room, navy satchel clasped to her chest and a smile beaming from her face. Roksana looked up from her seat at the computer console, relief working its way across her fair features when she saw her roommate.

"You weren't back in time for dinner; I got worried."

Molly paused. "Oh! Dinner. Sorry—I…lost track of the time. Ran into an old friend." She offered an apologetic smile and walked to her bed.

A quizzical expression replaced Roksana's grin. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" Molly replied. She set her satchel on the bed and turned. "Why?"

"You just seem…really happy. And earlier you looked like your best friend had died."

A stab of pain flashed through Molly, but she shunted it away. "I…I am happy. In a way."

Roksana's eyes narrowed.

Molly turned to rummage through her bag, pulling out several homework padds and finally the box. "I worked through some things on the beach. A lot of things."

"Oh?"

Molly's hands dropped to the bed, still clutching the padds and box. She sighed. "It's a long story. The important thing is, I'm okay."

Roksana, though clearly still curious, gave a small nod. "Okay." She angled her head. "What's in the box? Or should I not ask?"

Molly glanced down, just then realizing she hadn't put the box away as she'd intended. She tilted her head, staring hard at the smooth grain. Somehow, in light of her afternoon on the beach and her time with Worf afterwards, the thought of putting it away seemed hypocritical.

"It's…my treasure box," she answered. "I've had it since I was little."

"It have something to do with your going to the beach for five hours?" Roksana asked with a smile.

"Yes, actually." Molly brushed her thumb across the wooden lid. Then, too quickly to allow second thoughts, Molly flipped the lid and withdrew the holo-image. With a firm nod, she placed it on her nightstand, next to her chronometer, so she'd have no choice but to look at it and remember.

Every day.

"Who's that?" Roksana rose and came to stand beside Molly. "The woman with you?"

Happy assurance danced in Molly's chest. She inhaled deeply, ready to tell the story. The whole story.

"That," she began with a smile, "is Zia."

**One ****Week ****Later**

As she keyed the computer controls before her, Molly's heart thundered in her chest, like horses' hooves against the sun-baked turf.

Press, press. Blip_, _hum_. _Blink.

Pause.

_Almost there. Don't stop now, you can do it. One more key and you're done._

Molly swallowed hard, willing her heart to settle into its normal rhythm, breathing deeply to soothe her jittery nerves. _You can do this._

Press.

_There._

A blank screen. Then, Keiko O'Brien's delighted face.

"Molly!"

"Hey, Mom." Molly's knees felt weak, and she was grateful for the chair beneath her. "Uhm, I need to ask you something."

"Sure. Anything for you."

"I wanted to know if you were free for the next two weeks. I booked a transport, and wanted someone to come with me."

Keiko's brow furrowed. "Well, of course I'm free, honey. But why do you want me? I mean, I'd be happy to go with you, but I thought you'd want to take one of your friends instead. Maybe Roksana."

Molly drew a deep breath and held it, trying to force the words from her tongue. "It's to Trill," she said finally, with a noisy exhale.

The wrinkles in Keiko's brow smoothed into compassion. "Oh, honey. Of course I'll come."

Relief flooded Molly's veins. "Thanks."

"You're sure about this?"

Molly nodded. "It's been ten years, Mom. It's time to move on. Besides, I…have something to give her."

Confusion clouded her mother's eyes, but she asked no questions. For that, Molly was grateful.

"My last class is Monday. I've already talked with the administrator—I can leave my stuff here until we get back. The transport leaves Tuesday morning. I'll send you the details."

"Okay."

"I love you, Mom. See you Tuesday."

"Molly—wait. I'm proud of you for doing this. It can't be easy."

Molly laugh-sighed, her eyes closing. "It's not. But it's something I have to do." _Something I want to do._

They said their goodbyes, and Molly cut the channel.

Alone then, she couldn't help but second-guess her decision. She glanced across the room, at her nightstand, and saw the picture sitting there. Jadzia and little-girl Molly smiled back at her.

_It's time_, Molly thought, and squeezed the padd in her hand.

**Ten Days Later**

All was quiet in the dew-draped cemetery, lending it a serenity that Molly loved. None of her friends' superstitious claptrap regarding haunted tombstones and angry ghosts fogged her mind as she worked her way down the peaceful rows, her eyes roaming the names traced upon the markers. She knew where she was going—one of the gardeners had directed her to the place she'd inquired after, his hushed syllables only contributing to the emerald memorial surrounding them. Still, Molly found the tranquility comforting, and she lingered accordingly.

At length, she reached her destination and stood before it, letting her eyes run across the name, date, and inscription.

_Jadzia Idaris  
>2341-2374<br>Beloved daughter, sister, wife, and friend._

_And so much more_, Molly thought, tears pricking her eyes. _I'll miss you forever, Commander Hairdresser. Forever and always._

Molly stooped and placed her gift upon Jadzia's grave, then straightened and stepped back. "Goodbye, Zia. I'll always remember you."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Jaleyn Krem, the caretaker of the cemetery for Joined Trill, found a small, Starfleet-issue padd, not unlike the ones students at the Academy used to record and turn in papers to their professors, resting upon Jadzia Idaris' grave. At the top was the name <em>Cadet Molly O'Brien<em>, and, under that, ran the words, _Personal Essay: First-Year Cadet, 2384._ The title read, simply, _Legacy._

And below, Jaleyn read the opening words to an essay that would soon become famous across the Trill homeworld, hailed by both the Joined and the unjoined as a tribute to the life of a single woman, whose life had been tragically cut short, and the legacy she'd left behind.

_" 'Who inspired you to enter the Academy, and why?' You asked me a very personal question, so I will give you a very personal answer. I could give you the pat reply and tell you that it was my father, Chief Miles Edward O'Brien, who instilled the desire for a Starfleet career in me. A week ago, in fact, I would have given you that very answer. But it would have been a lie. _

"_I love my father very much. His being a transporter operator on the _USS Enterprise-D_ and later the chief of operations aboard _Deep Space 9_ certainly had something to do with my decision to pursue an education in Starfleet; I do not deny that. But it wasn't my primary inspiration. _

"_Because you see, I decided I was going to be a Starfleet officer when I was just four years old, playing with my favorite babysitter in her quarters. That babysitter was _Deep Space 9_'s senior science officer, a Trill, and her name was Jadzia Dax. Lieutenant Jadzia Dax at the time, though she later went on to become a lieutenant commander before her untimely death in 2374. _

"_I called her Zia.…" _

*~ Finis ~*


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